Diaries of an Imam Part One

It was a typical scene: there I was, rushing on my way to the supermarket in my little car. The traffic lights were orange and I put on an extra spurt of speed to make it through. Halfway through the lights were red. My young sons, ages 5 and 3, were excitedly egging me on to “beat the red light!” Patently, they’d done this type of thing before. My wife sat, tight-lipped and disapproving. She’d many a time in the past made it quite clear what she thought about my Schumacher-style driving. This incident set me thinking. My kids had already picked up a bad and potentially dangerous habit from me: Disregard for a law of the land designed for our safety and public order. Would it stay with them for life? Had it been another driver trying to beat the red light and I was on the receiving end, I would have commented about his dangerous tactics in no uncertain terms.

We speak about teaching our kids to be good. When is the time to teach? The five minute segments we manage to fit in a hectic day, or the occasions when our kids do something wrong and we lecture them Hitler-style? Another infamous habit I unconsciously passed on to my kids is to roar into an empty parking bay reserved for the handicapped when I go about my shopping. The Hadith makes it clear that parents play a major role in shaping a child’s religious beliefs. It follows that parents will have an even more significant role to play in shaping other areas of a child’s life. The law of the land is regarded as fair game by us. Is this the way a Muslim lives? We have entered into an unwritten agreement to abide by the rules (which do not violate the Law of Allah which takes precedence over all other laws) of the land we live in and a Muslim stands firmly by his word. Or have we selectively forgotten that quality?

In a similar vein, I was chatting to a friend on his trip to Jo’burg and Durban and the inevitable speeding violation popped up. He’d been stopped by the cops for doing 160 km/h in a 120 zone. The customary R100 exchanged hands and he was let off the hook. “Lucky,” I said, “that you were not stopped in KwaZulu Natal. The cops wouldn’t have let you go.” Another friend, listening in, interrupted, “Hey Moulana. How can you tell him he can get away with it outside KwaZulu Natal? Bribery is wrong and speeding is wrong.” What can I say? He was absolutely right. Are we part time Muslims, only practicing when it’s easy or suits our situation? Or are we truly committed to living a life completely ruled by the Law of Allah?

Speaking of parents’ influence on their young, let me recount an episode of my late grandfather’s inimitable style of teaching. I must have been 5 or 6 years old at the time when he lit up a cigarette. I asked for a puff and he immediately handed it over to me. Ignorant of the required method, I blew out instead of pulling in, letting ash fall on my pants, burning me and putting me off cigarettes for life. Not even my closest friend could tempt me to ever try it again. This highlights a significant aspect: the time and place for teaching our kids good lessons are not neatly delineated by a timetable. The ideal moment can come up at any time, any place. Sometimes, we need to look for unconventional methods of teaching, which wisdom will dictate. Wise ways are needed, good timing, effort and a bit of luck. All in all, hard work! Well who said good parenting was easy when the rewards are so great? A child dedicated to Islam is an investment and a means of reward when we are lying helpless in the grave.

A cellphone ringing in the Musjid is designed to get people’s blood boiling, especially when it’s a musical ringtone and the culprit fails to switch it off in time. I was cured of the typical response – a fierce frown at the offender and harsh words maybe – when the following incident happened. It was a Fajr Salaah early in my tenure as Imam. The cell of a venerable, grey-bearded regular shrieked through the air belting out the latest (from the racket it was producing) rap/rock/rowdy hit. To add insult to injury, he calmly let it ring on and answered it in the Musjid. An ideal situation for an Imam to come down like a ton of bricks, I thought. I don’t know why I held back, but I did. It transpired from the conversation he was having that he’d found the cell abandoned and was waiting for the owner to call so that he could return it. He hadn’t switched it off because he didn’t know the PIN to switch it on again, and it being an unfamiliar phone and him being of the older persuasion, he didn’t know how to put it on silent! It made me think; we can’t always judge actions from the outside. Apparent bad actions need to be tackled with wisdom to result in the perpetrator mending his ways. The incident of a villager who urinated in the Musjid in the time of the Prophet sallallahu alaihi wa sallam sprang to mind: He was allowed to finish off his business, the area was cleaned and he was politely explained the correct way. His ignorance was taken into account and the matter managed according to these circumstances.

Speaking of cellphone technology and not jumping to conclusions brings me to a humorous (later on) but initially embarrassing moment that happened to me. I sent an SMS to my parent’s house phone, addressed to my younger sister. I signed off with my first name only. My dad happened to pick up the phone. What must have passed through his mind when he heard a strange man’s voice (the computer) read out a message to my sister, I can only imagine with chagrin. It was his first taste of a speaking SMS. Reconstructing subsequent events from my mother’s later account, he blew his top over a ‘stranger’ communicating with my sister! Luckily he decided to phone me and I cleared up the matter. Using technology and the generation gap can be perilous at times!

Ending off on a sadder note. My granny’s sister passed away recently. I last saw her when I visited in January. It was an ordinary visit and an ordinary goodbye; we obviously expected to see her again. Little did we know that it was to be that last time. It set me thinking – how do we leave our homes for work, school, or other tasks? It’s an ordinary goodbye and sometimes it’s on a bad note after some disagreement. Let’s try to make every parting memorable for who knows, it may be the last. It also refreshes the thought of dying which the Hadith encourages us to remember excessively. Likewise, read every Salaah as though it’s the last – we might next be buried under the soil, desperately wishing we’d pleased Allah Ta’ala more. Difficult to part like this, or read Salaah like this every time? Well, do we think that entry into the everlasting luxuries of Paradise comes cheap?

Anyway, till the next time. Let me leave you with this thought: On being asked by an Ummayad ruler who lived in luxury why people feared death, a wise man replied, “Why shouldn’t we fear death when what we’ve built and love in this world is being left behind, and the Paradise that we’ve destroyed is drawing near?”